


Apricity

by say_im_good



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Drabble, M/M, attempted symbolism, daejae - Freeform, first-person, short fic, ♥
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/say_im_good/pseuds/say_im_good
Summary: When I was eight years oldAsking where I would be at eighteenI was never told that I’d be here,Breathing corrosion into my lungsLike I could pretend that your breathNever entered them.





	Apricity

   
When I was eight years old  
Asking where I would be at eighteen  
I was never told that I’d be here,  
Breathing corrosion into my lungs  
Like I could pretend that your breath  
Never entered them.  
   
It’s cold. The sky is black and it’s cold. You used to give me your jacket, the plaid flannel that was always too thin to hold it’s own warmth yet so hot from your skin like it had just been held over a fire. You were a fire in and of yourself, a massive one, one of those gigantic bonfires that are started with intention then burn out of control, tearing down everything in their path with the intention of destroying the past to prepare for the future. You were always a go-getter, someone who’d shove aside anything in his way for a better tomorrow. You were always a relentless blaze.  
   
It’s cold.  
   
I was fine before you came along. I didn’t need love, I didn’t want it. I didn’t need to press my face against your chest when I cried, I didn’t need to laugh against your lips, your teeth clicking against mine, laughing harder. I didn’t need glistening eyes, I didn’t need full lips, I didn’t know who Jung Daehyun was and I was fine.  
   
You don’t realize that you’re deprived until a blessing is first given, then torn away.  
   
And I think I’d rather have just stayed deprived.  
   
Your jacket is just a burden now. The fabric is so thin that it ripples in the wind, tickling my skin, reminding me that it’s there, that you were once there, when I’d rather just forget. Sitting on the same curb we were sitting on when you first kissed me, laughing at me when I was flustered because I’d never kissed before, never really planned to ever kiss anyone. Your smile was the sun, casting a fire into my frozen life that I didn’t ask for. It was addictive, all of it, the cigarette you let me try when I was huddled on this curb in a blanket you had brought, saying it would help the stress, the warmth of your jacket on my bruised skin, the plush of your lips on my neck, on my chest, everywhere at once. You were my first for everything. You'll be my last as well, and whether this is by my own decision or not, I can't tell.    
You ignited me, Daehyun. I was drenched wood, soaked to the bone, sick of the world that was sick of me, waiting to corrode, but somehow you did it. I started getting out of bed to see you, started going to school. Telling my parents that I was going to study just to be able to leave the house to see you cast the impression of a good student over my head, and you always told me that you were so happy that I hadn’t ended it on those nights where it was so tempting before. I kissed the confession note scribbled in your crappy handwriting like a schoolgirl, I dreamed of the future you’d always gush about, the one where we’re married and live together and you fight off my parents and I become the family you didn’t have. But right as I was burning fiercely, feeding with depenence off of your passion, off of the love you effortlessly gave like it costed nothing, right as I came to life... ...you vanished.    
I constantly wonder what happened. You were never the smartest on cold nights, and I was never the bravest. You said you’d just have a drink, head home, and rest. ‘No need to sneak out, don’t get yourself in trouble.’ I wondered why your texting style was slightly different, considered that, unlike most people, maybe you texted better when you were drunk. ‘I love you.’ You sent that four times in a row, with intervals of twenty minutes passing between each. I remember laying on my bed that night, staring at the screen, secretly waiting for the fifth. I’m still waiting, as uselss as it is.  
   
It’s been two weeks, so why do I still naively wonder why your seat is empty when I come in late for Geometry? It’s been two weeks so why do I still wait on this curb, rolled paper between my lips, your flimsy, cold jacket tickling my skin? I still feel your fingers graze along my neck sometimes, still feel your arms curling around me just to desperately glance over my should for those glistening, mischievous eyes and just find the miserable, empty alley. It’s been two weeks, so why does everything still feel so cold without you?    
It’s freezing. It’s so cold that it’s painful. You always fought for the future, planned in detail so meticulous that I’d laugh and you’d get mad. You said, no you knew, that you’d be a millionaire by thirty. I don’t know how you planned to do that with your minimum wage, part-time job, but you were so confident that I was convinced anyway. You’d live on a large plot of land with a small, cute house, donate the extra money to orphans that didn’t deserve same the life that you struggled through. You’d marry me, you were sure, I was sure too. We were in love no matter what the adults would say about being too young, about both being boys, the adults that didn’t know love enough to love their own children anyway. You understood me, you saved me, and you swore that I saved you, too, kissing my face all over, breathing, ‘I love you, Jae,’ every few minutes like I’d forget it if you didn’t.  
   
It’s been two weeks, so why do I still whisper ‘I love you’ to the emptiness beside me on this curb, pretending like you can hear me? I still can’t comprehend that you’re gone. I don’t think I ever will be able to. This world that you taught me to love, I hate it all over again. What good is a world like this when it’s so damned cold without you? You were so powerful, such an intense flame; I almost forgot how easily fire could be extinguished.  
   
It’s cold and my lungs are burning, but not in the same way that they did when you breathed into them, the nicotine almost insulting in comparison.  
   
It’s cold, it’s so fucking cold. Your eyes that glistened like sparks, your touch that scalded bruises into my hips and seared pink upon my cheeks, your laugh that bellowed like the smoke we inhaled together, the problems and pains of this frozen world insignificant because you were so warm, so bright. I’d write our names side by side with a heart in the middle, you found it in one of my spirals and refused to give it back, swearing that you’d frame it even as I tried to tear the notebook from your hands in passionate embarrassment. We were going to get married, you were going to go so far. I wonder where you are now, if you’re happy there, if you feel like you were deprived of the success that you craved.    
I don’t even know what really happened. You had no family to issue the news to, no funeral. The officer who stared into my worried eyes as I put in the missing person’s report had given me a pat on the back, told me that he was relieved that someone would remember you, told me he was worried that you were another of the faceless, the nameless. They’d already taken your body away by then, and I sobbed knowing that I could’ve been there that night, even though you told me not to come, I could’ve been there. They said it could’ve been a suicide. That’s what hurts the most, the agonizing question of what in this world was powerful enough to convince someone with such a future that there was no hope left. But I’ll never know. Did you step out into the street knowing that the driver’s headlights were off, that they wouldn’t be able to see you in time to stop? Did you close your eyes and breathe in the cold air, tears on your cheeks, finality in your heart, or did you step out on the way home, thinking of being a millionaire with a big plot of land and a ring on your finger? If there is no afterlife, I hope for the latter. I hope that you had your dream blazing on your mind like it almost always was, I hope that it was painless, I hope that it was instant. But I’ll never know.  
   
It’s cold, and I wish I could be adjusted to it again like I once was, numb and empty, living to die with too many regrets to sate and no real reason to try. But the ghost of your lips is still warm on my face, the breath of your laugh still dancing in the air, and I would never vocally wish to forget the euphoria that I felt when I was with you. As long as these hints of warmth still ghost over my skin, I’ll continue to breathe. You left ashes in me when you burned out, but ashes still warm can reignite, can’t they…?  
   
It’s cold, but even after you’ve burned out, your warmth is still vibrant somewhere within me. And I’ll be damned if I let your blaze sputter to nothing.  
   
When I was eight years old asking where I would be at eighteen, I was never told that I’d be here, breathing corrosion into my lungs like I could pretend that your breath never entered them. But I'm here, you were here too once, and now no matter how cold it is, I’ll always hold the memory of your fire vividly, somewhere where it can grow once more into the blaze that I saw in your glistening eyes. Your memory, your love, your passion, your legacy, the power of it all...  
   
It’s warm.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first BAP fic and I'm really nervous haha. I didn't think it would be a drabble like this, so I hope it's alright. Let me know what you think~


End file.
